


Ain't Playing No More

by MonGuero



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Out of Character, Romance, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonGuero/pseuds/MonGuero
Summary: Faraday has a long road to recovery and pushes everyone away every chance he gets. He pretends it's all ok, until he doesn't. Vasquez just wants to help, or at least he did...There's only so much angry drunk Irishman you can take when you're just trying to help a wounded friend.





	1. Changes Afoot

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is the first thing I've ever written, not just fic, this is the very first written item of any sort! I've just been a reader for a long time and for some reason couldn't get this idea out of my head so i've decided to give writing it down a go.
> 
> I've made Faraday deliberately OOC to kind of fit with the fact he's generally lost and not sure who/what he is anymore and it helps with adding quite a bit of Angst. Unbetad, so I'm sorry for any mistakes - Let me know what you think and I'll be sure to update at least every week if people enjoy it...I hope someone does!
> 
> p.s. Goodnight and Billy are all-knowing and just kind of cute in the background.

He wasn’t…broken exactly. It’s just that he wasn’t the same. Gone were the days of Faraday’s never ending griping and indecent, but funny to himself, slurs. He’d tried to maintain his couldn’t care less attitude and laid back persona, he’d tried to keep up with the drinking and gambling and mutterings of complaints any chance he could get. But after a whole week laid up on a hard as nails cot and then another two weeks of recovery….well it had just got to tiring him out. Maybe it was the time he was kept on that cot and unable to drink that got him off of it, or maybe the shock of literally being at death’s door made him realise that the drinking and card games were slowly eating into his easy-earned coin and borrowed-time existence. Who knows. Could be both, or probably neither, he couldn’t tell ya. All that was obvious to Faraday was that he wasn’t the same. 

He’d come out of his bed ridden recovery to face all the barely concealed grimaces and sympathetic smiles of his new companions. He’d figured the best way to get them back to treating him how he’s used to being treated was to throw himself into his drink and his gambling and his quick witted grumbling like he used to. He’d intended to perhaps play up on the fact that he was tougher than he looked, he could still drink with the best of them, still do what they could all do, he could help fix up the town proper and, damnit Vasquez he could get up the stairs his damn self.

But no. After those first two weeks out of recovery Faraday just came to realise something important, well a few things actually. No matter how hard he tried to be the usual Joshua Faraday they had come to know, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he was ok, to make them see him as they did before, it just wasn’t working. The pitying looks weren’t gonna stop, the drink wasn’t gonna taste any better and certainly ain’t gonna help matters, the hushed voices concerning his supposed wellbeing couldn’t be unheard, his jibes and complaints weren’t going to get the usual smirks or grunts of laughter from his comrades. Ultimately? He was tired.

So, on the twenty second day after the big show down with Bogue, Faraday gave up. He didn’t start his day struggling down the stairs with his bum leg and setting up at the far table from the bar with his cards and whiskey. He didn’t immediately start grumbling to Sam about what jobs he’d have to do today and who he could pawn them off on because, ‘he’s got serious, respectable and non-gambling businessman-like work to do today with fellas that enjoy cards and money and the like.’ 

He didn’t give Red any shit about what he was most likely planning on catching for them for dinner, or Horne about how he was looking more bear-like than usual today, he didn’t even slur something offensive about the fancy pattern Vasquez was carving into one of the pieces of wood they were using to clean up the church for the townsfolk. Nah, today he hobbled straight over to the room opposite his and knocked twice. He waited without a word, asked Goodnight if he was heading down and if he wouldn’t mind offering some help taking the stairs. He expected the surprised look on Robicheaux’s face, what with Faraday’s new chosen approach to his days, but certainly not the sharp turn of Billy’s head towards the door, from where he sat on his and goodnight’s bed fixing up his pig stickers. 

Billy of course rarely responded to most social cues outright, and when he did deem it necessary to, it was merely just an incline of his head or a raised eyebrow if something was particularly funny. Faraday looked to the floor not quite sure how to handle Billy’s surprise, fiddling with his own fingers a little. As if shaken out of his surprise by Faraday’s discomfort, Goodnight acknowledged his out of character request by informing Faraday he was just heading down himself, before shutting the door behind him and taking the still recovering man by the elbow, as they headed down the hall towards the stairs.

Goodnight looked over at his new friend curiously and a little concerned “You feeling alright, Son?”

Faraday felt a twinge of guilt in his chest as he considered perhaps just going on pretending to still be the same Faraday he always was to the outside world. He didn’t particularly want to worry any of his companions any more than he had already with his injuries, but at the same time he was tired, and he didn’t see the point any more. He just wanted to sit, and be quiet, and watch every one and every thing and figure out exactly what was next for him. Who he was gonna be, what he was gonna do, where he’d go….He couldn’t very well do all that while griping at everyone and playing cards and drinking like he normally did. He didn’t want to. 'So no', he thought, 'fuck it - it’s not like they can think any less of me, why not be weak for a while. May as well be what they think I am anyway, right?'

“Just wanted some help.” Faraday shrugged and mumbled his reply, as he continued to lean his left side into goodnight and approached the top of the stairs. 

He grunted as they descended the steps and kept his eyes on his feet as he felt the others starting to look up. 'It wouldn’t be so bad', he tried to convince himself. 'Sam won’t mention anything, Red barely speaks anyway. Horne might mention something divine about accepting help but that’s to be expected. Vasquez...'

Faraday bit his lip as they neared the last step, thinking about all the times he’s shrugged Vasquez off, or yelled at him for hovering too near when he thought Faraday needed help, for all the countless times he’d called him an irritating fucking Mexican for just offering his arm to lean on up the stairs. Fuck. He felt another pang of guilt. 

 

‘Well, better late than never I suppose.’ He thought, as they finally made the last step, and he looked up with a twinge of embarrassment and a no-doubt slightly redder than usual face. “Mornin”.


	2. All Down Hill From Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faraday reminisces, argues and concedes. He puts in to affect his plan to just be easy and compliant, but ruffles some feathers in doing so. Vasquez is just angry that the friend he thought he had, fucked him around, and now seems to be playing a new game that no one else is in on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still going strong with this - got a solid plan for the next few chapters....just need to figure out where it ends!

He didn’t have to wait long for the slightly awkward silence to end, before Horne was piping up from his seat at the end of the bar.

“About time there, Joshua.” Horne’s voice as high and soft as ever, as he continued. “Good mornin’ to you too, it’s practically noon!” 

Faraday briefly looked down to hide his smile, he appreciated Horne playing with him, rather than drawing attention to him finally accepting an ounce of help. “I’ll have you know Jack,” Faraday started, as he made his way over to the table farthest from the stairs and nearest the window. Having let go of Goodnight and using the chairs about him to lean on, as he navigated the floor, “that Robicheaux is only just down too, and that our dear ol’Billy is still in his room. I’m hardly the last to stumble on down.”

Horne lightly chuckles before saying “Boy, those two have been up since I have. Billy’s only gone back up to clean those pretty knives of his.”

“Oh,” Faraday mumbles. “Was worth a try I guess”, he finishes with an easy smile as he finally lowers himself slowly into the chair by the window. Looking up, he catches eyes with Sam and gives a half salute with his hand.

“You’re looking good there, Faraday.” Sam drawls kindly, “Keep it up.”

Faraday just throws him another half smile and tilts his hat to him, before propping up his bad leg on the chair opposite and playing with his cards on the table. Just because he doesn’t plan to gamble anymore doesn’t mean he can’t have them to hand. He gratefully accepts the offered drink from one of the girls in the saloon, still doting on the would-be heroes of their town, and the seven of them still not quite gentlemanly enough to tell them to do otherwise. He gives her a grateful nod of his head and a “Thank you darlin”, before turning to look out the window onto the newly repaired streets of Rose Creek.

Sam begins his usual talk about what was completed the day before and what’s to be continued with for the rest of the week, commenting on any particular jobs well done or not so well done, mentioning folk to keep an eye on here and there. Faraday lets his voice fade into the background as he looks out at the street, remembering when they first entered the town to ambush Bogue’s ‘Deputies’, and then how they had started to rectify the battlefield it had become.

He remembers the first few days after he was allowed off of that god forsaken cot, and finally given jobs to do, starting off his days arguing with Chisolm about his ‘chores’ and trying to convince him that others could do that job or why couldn’t he do the job assigned to Red? All in all, just really arguing to argue, looking for that riled up look to come over on one of his companions’ faces, to start a cussing match like before the shootout had happened. Like the ones him and Vasquez would indulge in from time to time, when they were feeling particularly biting or childish. But no, no one ever bit those days after his time being laid up, they either huffed a laugh if his whining was particularly colourful, or in Vasquez’s case offered to help Faraday with his jobs or to take them over completely.

Faraday would be leaned up against the bar, nursing a whiskey first thing in the morning still bruised and visibly scarred from the ordeal the week before, propped up by a finely fashioned crutch, courtesy of Vasquez. 

He smiled softly as he remembered Vasquez holding it out to him, somewhat sheepishly, the day he was due to be let out.

“Quite the little Texican tinkerer, aren’t we there, Muchacho?” Faraday had drawled after it was handed to him the day he got off of the cot, grunting as he pulled himself to stand, Vasquez hovering close by at his elbow, arms out ready to assist if needed.

“What can I say? I’m good with my hands.” Vasquez had answered in a low rumble, followed by a wink. “And it’s Mexican. How many times, Cabrón?”

Faraday remembers blushing and muttering about how Mexican and Texican are the same damn thing, as he struggled to get his balance while hopping past Vasquez and out of the room.

Vasquez, laughing as he followed, shouted after him “So far so good, hey Guero?”

Faraday had smiled when he heard it, shouting back “Well if you hear a thud and me cussing? It means you ain’t so good with your hands, Cabrón.” Putting emphasis on the lack of accent and rolling R, making sure it sounded as ‘Southern American’ as possible.

He’d continued walking as he listened to Vasquez outright laughing behind him, clearly not expecting him to have used some Mexican himself. Or wait, was it Spanish? He remembers Goodnight telling him the proper word for it on the way into Rose Creek but can’t fully remember. He’s sure Vasquez will find some angry colourful way of putting him right, should he mention the wrong one. He had smiled at the thought and continued on out to see the rest of his new friends.

Since that day off the cot, it had gone relatively smoothly acting as his usual self. It was only when Chisolm had starting seeing fit to hand out jobs to the townsfolk and their group alike, asking about what roles people would want to play in the town and what they needed built or just redone after the battle, that things had gone a little brittle.

Of course Ms Emma had also taken to doing the same, only she would hold her meetings outside the church for those not quite comfortable enough to spend too much time round the mysterious group of 7. Sure they had saved their town, but Faraday supposes he can understand people being wary of those able to just waltz into someplace new, shoot it all to hell and kill plenty of men too, without batting an eye. Give em time, Horne had said. 

And so, Ms Emma and Chisolm would often discuss what needed to be done most evenings, and then the following morning Ms Emma and Teddy would gather with the townsfolk able to work that day, and deal out work and buildings to focus on. Sam would then take the hardest of the tasks to his men to distribute, so that they could oversee those assigned to specific places and to resource materials from further-out towns where they could. It was a good process. It worked well, people listened to one another and the town finally had a purpose besides getting through another day under Bogue’s boot.

Unfortunately Faraday would take these ‘dishing outs’ as opportunities to be as irritating as possible to get these rises out of his friends. He would argue with the amount of work given to him, insist he be given a chair and umbrella so that he could properly oversee the workers, making jokes about being the boss and not wanting to put strain on his bruised but soon to be handsome again features. If he was feeling particularly bratty he would insist that Sam was coddling him in giving him the easy jobs and snap at the fact he was being pushed to the side like he had died in the fight and that he wasn’t being properly utilised damnit! 

On those occasions Vasquez would tell him to calm down and that he could work with him on his jobs that day if he’d like, or he’d nudge Chisolm and mutter something to him along the lines of ‘Si, give that job to him and I’ll keep an eye out’, which of course only proceeded to piss the gambler off. More often than not it would turn in to an all out shouting match with Vasquez. The first couple of times it happened Faraday brushed it off. They were friends of course and friends looked out for each other, and because of this, Faraday accepted his help on one occasion, let it be forced onto him on another occasion, and then altogether turned hostile whenever it was mentioned again at their meetings.

He remembered the first time he’d agreed to help out Vasquez on his tasks at the church, cutting wood and carrying logs, carving pews and the like. He’d managed to loiter for all of 10 minutes before he’d realised he was absolutely useless. He’d tried to help cutting, insisting he didn’t need his legs to chop wood, but the swing down would throw him off balance and he wasn’t cutting clean through. So he’d tried his hand at the carving and that just plain proved he didn’t really have any skill in it. And so he’d turned from those tasks, embarrassed and hostile, to try his hand at simply lifting the logs and placing them on the chopping block that Vasquez had made prior to the battle itself. 

He’d seen Vasquez lift an eyebrow at him as he approached the pile of logs to be cut, and so quickened his pace to reach them before he could be stopped. He’d put his crutch down and crouched so that he could lift one end while another worker lifted the other. They lifted at the same time and all seemed like it would go well, and it did, until of course they had to move it over. The worker at the other end of the log started to side-step toward their goal, while Faraday tried to do the same, obviously with both his arms supporting the log and no where to lean on, he immediately struggled.

Somewhere off to the side he heard something being dropped and a cursed “Hijo de puta.” Before hurried footsteps approaching.

“Faraday what the hell are you doing!” Vasquez said, urgently. Already reaching out to steady him and motioning for someone to take the log.

“Doing my damn part, Vasquez. What the hell does it look like.” Faraday hissed through clenched teeth, under the strain of the log and the pain his leg was giving him.

“Mierda, Guero. You’re going to hurt yourself!” Vasquez put the crutch under Faraday’s arm and took the log from him, grunting as he passed it to the worker ready to take over. “Sit down you crazy fucking cowboy, before you destroy your leg”.

“I had it handled! This is bullshit, how am I supposed to get anything done around here if none of you take me seriously.” He tried to come off angry but it just came out sounding like he was feeling sorry for himself.

Vasquez visibly softened at the tone. “Guero, we don’t expect you to heal overnight, you need time, of course we take you seriously”.

Faraday laughs bitterly, “Like hell you do, I don’t even get my own damn task to oversee. I hear you muttering to Chisolm, him pawning me off to you because he’s worried I’ll fuck up any other job, you agreeing cos you feel sorry for me.” He stands, hardly stable, and turns to leave, kicking up dust as he goes. “Well fuck that.”

“Faraday,” Vasquez sighs, “don’t-“

“Save it, Amigo.” Faraday mutters back, darkly. He carries on hobbling back to the saloon where he’ll find a friend in his cards and whiskey, ignoring the almost hurt look he could’ve sworn he saw on Vasquez’s face.

Needless to say, that confrontation repeated itself over the following days, getting more and more heated as it went. What with Vasquez wanting to help every chance he could get, and Faraday maintaining this persona of his to get back to normal as quickly as he could. It got vicious some days, Faraday going a bit too far with his racial digs at his friend and Vasquez making a few comments about what actual use Faraday was, between being drunk and crippled. It had gotten harsh and bitter between them and yeah, Faraday can admit now, it was all his fault. Whatever kind of friendship was once being built between them, was now turned to ash, no chance to see where the might have gone.

“Joshua!” Chisholm shouts.

Faraday starts as he’s jolted out of the memories by the sharp raised voiced, only to turn and see everyone looking at him, even Billy’s made it down now. Chisholm has an exasperated look to him as he continues.

“That sit alright with you, Son?” He says with a slight bite to his voice that suggests he’s had to wait for a response, but that he also knows the kind he’ll get.

“Excuse me?” Faraday breathes. Red and Billy aren’t looking at him anymore and the others have mixed expressions about them. Horne with a hard look in his eyes like he’s daring Faraday to argue with something he hadn’t even heard. Robicheaux has the look of someone willing Faraday to be a better person than he is and Vasquez just looks how he always does nowadays. Unimpressed and mightily affronted. Faraday tries again, “I’m sorry Chisolm, I don’t-“

“Oh here we go, Pendejo.” Vasquez interrupts with a sneer. “What’ll the complaints be this time, hm Guero?” Vasquez stands straighter at the bar and turns fully so his elbows are leaning against it and his shoulders are pushed up, hands and fingers outstretched like he’s physically beckoning for the answer.

“No complaints,” Faraday says to Vasquez and turns now, to Chisolm “I was just in a world of my own. What was that you were sayin?”

“I was just asking if you’d see about getting the fences for the horses finished today and perhaps oversee the work on the old barn?”

Faraday ignored Vasquez’s scoff at this and immediately responds, “Yeah, that’s just dandy. I’ll make my way over now, boss man.”

He starts getting up out of his chair and is interrupted by Chisolm, as he makes his way towards the door. “You don’t have to start now, Son.” He says, clearly surprised, “The townsfolk won’t have made their way over just yet. Ms Emma is still handing out jobs.”

Faraday considers this, looks around the room at the others. He takes note of Sam and Goody’s raised eyebrows, Horne’s smirk and Vasquez’s narrowed eyes and deep frown. “It’s alright,” he shrugs “May as well take a look at the barn before we get started, I’ve got an invested interest in that one.”

He makes his way further towards the door and leans over a chair to place his glass on the bar, before turning back towards Sam. “I’ve always fancied myself a bit of a farmer.” He says with a grin and a quick salute, before heading out the door towards the barn. It’s not a complete lie. He just always thought if he wasn’t so lazy and more motivated he might own a ranch or stables where he could work with horses all day. Just him and his Jack, training other horses and just being by himself out in the open. Maybe he could have that here. Maybe that’s where this could all lead. Become mellow, agreeable, helpful and then eventually get to live this easy relaxing life with just him and his horses. Yeah, that sounds pretty great to him. Maybe train a few stallions and tame some wild ones, sell some breeders and maybe breed some himself. He grins to himself as he makes his way across town. Maybe this plan wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Faraday doesn’t see anyone, outside of the group sent to work on the barn, for the rest of the day. It’s probably the most he’s worked since arriving in Rose Creek, and he’s exhausted. He pats the shoulder of the last guy to leave, Christopher something, and thanks him for the work today before closing the doors and heading back to the saloon. He’ll have a quick chat with his compadres and then head straight on up to his bed, it’s calling to him by now, and for once he feels like he’s earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your support and comments!! You guys rock and definitely make me want to keep writing!
> 
> Translations:  
> Cabrón - Jerk  
> Hijo de puta - Son of a Bitch  
> Mierda - Shit  
> Pendejo - Jackass / Asshole


	3. What Could Have Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait!! Don't hate me, it's here now! Love you all! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if translations are sucky :/

Pushing through the doors of the saloon, Faraday leans on the edges briefly as he passes, slightly out of breath from the struggle up the 3 stairs out front. He would’ve been a hell of a lot more than slightly out of breath if that Christopher boy hadn’t of helped him. He hadn’t even warned Faraday, just turned up out of nowhere and grabbed his elbow, already talking a mile a minute about how it was his pleasure to help one of their ‘saviours’. Faraday had actually bristled a little when the boy had said that, quickly tamping it down, thinking himself unreasonable. Faraday says boy, but he’s maybe around the same age as him, possibly a few years younger judging by how enthusiastic this guy is with people. 

Once through the doors, he gestures for Christopher to go on through ahead of him, and the guy tips his hat to him with a smirk and a goddamn wink, before heading over to a table full of some of the people that work out in the fields with Vasquez. Faraday takes the time leaning against the doors to look around, he never normally arrives this late, so it’s a little disorientating to discover all the tables are taken. His friends are actually already there for once, an odd change from Faraday waiting around for everyone to come in and catch up with him on the ol’ whiskey. 

He ambles slowly over to Miss Emma’s table with a grin on his face, seeing that it’s already filled with Teddy, Vasquez, Goodnight and Billy. He grabs a chair from the table next to them, assuming the empty one is meant for Red, seeing the Comanche heading over to the table from the bar. The irishman sits between Teddy and Billy, with Goodnight next to Billy, Vasquez next to him and Emma next to him, with the empty chair between herself and Teddy. Which, before all this might seem a little peculiar, but since the fight and subsequent cleanup job, Red and Emma seem to have become friends. The oddest pair of people you’d ever see walk down the street if you asked him, but he’d honest to god seen Red laughing last week to something she had said, and since then he couldn’t help but grin whenever he saw them together. They could both smile just that little bit more, as far as Faraday was concerned, and Red seemed to have grown rather protective of her of late, not really having much time for Teddy. Surprisingly Teddy hadn’t seemed to have minded too much, too busy making eyes at the new teacher that’d come to town a few days prior, after having heard about the newly rebuilt and liberated Rose Creek.

Red finally makes it back to their table and places down the tray in the middle of the table none too gently, causing some of the glasses to slide and splash a little on the table. No finesse that guy, Faraday thought with a smirk.

Red gestures to the drinks, looking at Faraday as he goes to sit in his chair, Faraday shakes his head with a smile. “No thank you, Harvest Sir”, he slurs with a salute to the Comanche, “I’m gonna hit the hay just as soon as I can be bothered to give the kind people of Rose Creek the pleasure of my retreating form, heading up those them stairs”.

Red finally sits with a huff, the closest thing anyone but Emma has gotten to a laugh, Teddy scoffs and Goody chuckles a little. “And we’re taking that to mean that you are just waiting for someone to look agreeable enough for you to ask for assistance up ‘those them’ stairs?” Goody drawls in his educated Cajun way of speaking. He says it with a smile though, so Faraday don’t see no point in being offended.

“Well….Yes”. Faraday says with a straight face and a ‘obviously’ look on his face.

Goody laughs outright and Billy smirks along with him, giving Faraday an almost fond look before leaning over the back of his chair to whisper in Goody’s ear. Goody nods and continues to talk with Emma about his plans in Rose Creek. Turns out Goody fancies himself a bit of a writer now and Billy wants to start making his own knives, maybe turn it into a business of sorts. Faraday actually likes the sound of that, it makes sense, it would make the two men happy, and they deserved to be that, if nothing else.

Faraday takes another look around the saloon and notices Horne and Chisolm at the bar talking amongst themselves, probably more game plans about the town, or perhaps even discussing their new plan for the law. What with Horne’s hidden past as a sheriff once upon a time, and Chisolm’s experience with the law too, they’d taken it upon themselves to draw up plans for the Sheriff’s Department, and it had actually been approved by the townsfolk. Faraday looked forward to the day the town was completely restored and he could go and see Sheriff Sam Chisolm and his bear-deputy, Horne. He smirked just thinking about how Horne would look in a deputies get-up.

“You mean to say you’re turning down a free drink and a night of gambling, Guero?” Vasquez says from across the table, making Faraday turn back to look him in the eye, and for the current conversations at the table to end abruptly.

Faraday laughs, “Yes, I suppose I am”. He says smiling round the table to the others as if it’s a funny situation and it’s absolutely normal for him not to want a drink, and that he’s not internally screaming at himself that this isn’t him and to stop being weak and just have a bloody drink. He tries not to let his smile falter as his gaze lands back on Vasquez, as the Mexican scoffs at him.

“Si, so you expect us all to believe you’re this hardworking, sober friend of ours now, Cabron?” Vasquez sneers. “Since when are you remotely responsible, and since when do you decline anything politely, at that?” he starts again, putting his cigar out and leaning forward to place his hands on the table, leaning slightly over to get into Faraday’s face as much as he can from across the table. “I remember clearly Guero, you shoving me away from helping you up the stairs and insisting I leave you to your whiskey, and that all I was good for was bringing you more”.

Vasquez’s voice is rising now and it’s starting to earn the attention of some people at the surrounding tables. Billy’s sitting a little straighter, Emma and Red are sending a keen stare towards Vasquez and Goody is looking over at Faraday with a sad little grimace on his face, like he knew this was coming and he felt sorry for him. Faraday swallows and sits up straighter, forcing a strained smirk onto his face as he says, “Well you see, I had just been a little beaten up, amigo, and I wasn’t-“.

“You were BLOWN UP, amigo”, Vasquez growls loudly as he pushes up out of his chair and leans across the table further, sneering the word amigo into Faraday’s face. “Perhaps you should think about how you treated your friends that wanted to help you after you decided to try and get yourself killed, and why they might not be too agreeable with this ‘holier than thou’ act of yours, just because you’ve decided that now you’ll finally realise you need help!” 

Faraday is honestly shocked at seeing Vasquez this riled up and can only sit there with his mouth open and stare back at the fuming Mexican man in front of him. He knew he’d perhaps rubbed the man the wrong way after refusing his help rudely one too many times, but he didn’t realise it had grown into full blown resentment.

Vasquez leans back to stand up straight and grabs his drink. “Eres un maldito idiota, Faraday”, he mutters as he turns away. He takes a couple steps towards the bar before turning to point at Faraday “For a man who can’t even die right, don’t you think it’s a little too late to start trying to be a good man now? Si, Guero? Something’s not quite right with you, I think”. He laughs cruelly at that, no humour in it, and slowly stalks away to the bar and settles on a stool there. Sam and Horne are looking at their table now and Faraday knows he’s blushing from being called out, and looks down at the table, biting his lip.

He can feel the tell tale prickling in his eyes, knowing he has to get away from everyone soon, or they’re going to see just how much of him isn’t ‘right’ right now. He knows Vasquez is right and it’s too late for him to change and that everyone can see straight through him. But for him to call him out on how fucked he is right now, how he’s not him…he’s not anyone. That hurt. Maybe he’s right, maybe he just didn’t die right and it would have been easier on all of them if he just had. He leans an elbow on the table and scrubs a hand over his face as he takes a deep breath to stop the tears from falling.

He clears his throat and looks up without meeting anyone’s eyes. “Right then,” He glances towards the bar and sees that Vasquez has gotten his new drink and is heading back over to their table, with the two ladies he stood next to at the bar, “About those stairs…” Goody thankfully interrupts him before he has to ask again and embarrass himself even more, proving Vasquez’s words to be correct.

“I’ve gotcha, Son”. Goody says, quickly getting up from the table, rushing to fix the awkward silence that has fallen over their table.

Billy puts his hands on Goody’s shoulders and pushes him back down muttering in Korean, making Goody smile and nod, gesturing to Faraday that Billy will take him. Billy finishes his drink in one gulp and picks his hat up before walking over to the stairs, waiting for Faraday to catch up. Thankfully Billy is as astute as ever and must be able to tell Faraday wants to get the hell out of dodge before Vasquez gets back with his new friends.

“G’night everyone”. He mumbles to the table as he walks as quickly as his injuries will allow, following Billy, and only briefly catching eyes with Vasquez, as they cross paths on the way to the stairs. As they make their way up, Faraday can’t help but apologise to at least one of them. “I’m sorry for all this”.

Billy just looks over at him with a quirk of his eyebrows, as they reach the top of the stairs and head down the corridor towards their rooms.

“Y’know, for the way I ended up after the fight, needing all this help and fighting with you all and wasting everyone’s time. I know I’m a fucking liability now, and I’m just,” He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face as they reach his door. Keeping his hand over his face, he breathes “I’m just really fucking sorry, Billy”. His voice breaks slightly at the end and he’s so happy he kept his hand on his face. He pinches his fingers into his eyes, covering up the evidence there that he’s as weak now as he ever was, eventually scrubbing his hand off of his face to look down at his toes, as Billy reaches past him to open his door for him.

He’s about to step back into his room and pretend none of this evening happened, and to just reboot tomorrow and try again, when he sees Billy step closer and feels hands on his shoulders. He starts and looks up to see Billy’s face rather close to his, and focuses on looking him straight in the eyes rather than freaking out that Billy is full blown interacting with someone other than Goodnight.

Billy has Faraday by the shoulders and has his head ducked a little to look him directly in the eyes, straightening up as Faraday finally looks up from his feet. “Neoneun joh-eun salam-iya, Joshua”, Billy says quickly, and it sounds god damn amazing. “You’ll get there”. He follows that with a light slap to the right side of Faraday’s face, and a quick smirk, before turning and going straight into his own room and shutting the door.

What. The. Hell. Faraday’s eyes are completely dry now and he’s got his hand on his face where Billy just slapped him, a small sideways smile on his lips. He’s never heard him speak Korean before, and it seemed pretty damn special to him that he’d said something to him in his own language, when he knows it’s only Goodnight who’s heard it before. Of course, he has no idea what he said, but judging by the earnest look on the smaller man's face he assumes he’s supposed to take it as encouragement. 

He shrugs and turns into his room with a little huff of a laugh at Billy's antics. He shuts his door behind him and starts to undress, thinking as he goes that he could really learn to get along with that man, maybe even be close to him and Goodnight one day. They’ve been genuinely great with him since the battle finished, and he just hopes they’re willing to put up with him long enough for him to prove to them he can be useful, and maybe they’d want to keep him in their life for a while.

Faraday eventually strips down to just his underwear and stands in front of the small dusty mirror by his bed, scanning his body to check his healing injuries. He's trying hard not to think too much about the disgust in Vasquez’s voice and the bite to his words, by focusing on the physical changes he seee.

He’s getting a little skinny now, he thinks. He was always quite a built man, eating well his whole life and always working, so he had a bit of beef to his body as he grew up. Burly, his mom used to call him. But now he noticed he was getting a little slimmer. He honestly hadn’t been eating much since he took on this job with Chisolm, and since getting injured he’d been laid up and living off of soup for weeks. Apparently that’d made a difference to his body. Not that it was a bad thing, he was still bigger than most, not quite Teddy’s lanky frame but not as broad as Vasquez either. He looked quite good in the face, even if he did say so himself. The not-drinking and honest work obviously doing him some favours, if his clear skin and boyish look about him was anything to go by. He brushes his hands softly up against a few of the scars over his sides and chest from bullets and shrapnel alike, marvelling at how something so painful could just heal itself over time.

He eventually runs his hands over his growing beard and hair and thinks back to his conversation with Goody a few nights ago, about barbers and shaving, and how Goody always looked so proper. Goody had said he could too, if he wanted to. He’d laughed of course, and said something about how the ‘worlds’ greatest lover’ couldn’t be seen to look too proper. It was half of his allure of course, women wanting someone their daddy could be angry about. Maybe he’d talk to Goody about it again tomorrow, see if he could help him sort it out, he had no use for seducing anyone here in Rose Creek and maybe this whole new way of living was as good a reason as any to make changes all round. Maybe Vasquez would be more inclined to believe Faraday was worth the trouble if he looked to be making an effort in all aspects of life…Maybe he’d even think it looks good. Faraday coughs and feels himself blush a little, turning away from the mirror and determinedly not thinking about what he can do to make Vasquez think he looks good. Maybe if Vasquez thinks he looks good then he’ll be a little more open to them getting back to being friendly again, and trying to see wherever their friendship had definitely been leading, before the battle of Rose Creek. No, Faraday thought, getting into bed. Enough of that. Vasquez has clearly had enough of him, and that’s ok. 

The very back of his mind though, is very decidedly unhappy about that and pushes thoughts to the front of his mind, about how he’d blush every time Vasquez would mutter something suggestive to him during target practice. Whenever they’d be alone on the trip to Rose Creek they’d get into a silly argument that would eventually lead to growling remarks about each others’ accents and clothes and then into innuendos and flirting. He’d enjoyed it then, so had Vasquez, and he really thought it might lead somewhere by the time they’d gotten to the small town. He’d known when he first got shot that day, when Vasquez had lost his shit and killed that man with far more bullets than necessary, that there were feelings there on both sides. And it was in the forefront of his mind, what could have been, as he rode towards that gattling gun.

He shakes his head to clear those thoughts. Well, too late now, he thinks. Rolling over and pulling up the blankets he closes his eyes and tries to imagine anything but the sad looks from his friends, the disdain from Vasquez or that damn gattling gun. He settles on thinking about how he’ll look without a beard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neoneun joh-eun salam-iya - You are a good man
> 
> Eres un maldito idiota - You are a fucking idiot


End file.
